Red Ruse

Epilogue

Evangeline

The portrait takes a while to burn.

Smoke wisps from the edges as the canvas curls, fumes rising as the paint burns with it. My lips tug with satisfaction as Elara's eyes snap to us. It fades soon enough.

Cal draws the flame towards him, lining the walls. "The smoke will kill her." His voice is low, dangerous. "If we stay out of her range long enough."

I nod, squinting down the hall, a few shapes flickering through the flames. Dark hair, pale skin, military uniform–Maven Calore has made his entrance, feeble as it may be. He can't burn. But perhaps Barrow will.

The smoke grows thicker, coalescing down the hall, and I turn to Cal. "Can you direct the smoke?"

He frowns. "Vaguely." A sharp exhale. "It'll be better with a windweaver."

The rest, well . . .

Smoke.

Blades.

My silent stone manacles.

It's all it takes to bring her to her knees. All it takes to turn a queen to a prisoner. It's a feeling I know all too well. A feeling that rings dead in my chest as I stand above her. I force her to look me in the eye. "If Barrow's my Coriane . . . " I smile, soft and deadly. "What does that make you?"

It's the last thing she sees before the smoke blacks her out.

I could do worse.

Cal lays a hand on my shoulder, and I bristle. It's not the gentle sweep of Elane's fingers, nor the reassuring squeeze of Tolly's. Instead, I'm reminded of this morning, of my parents announcing the plans they left me out of.

You were too close, my dear. We couldn't risk her plucking the details from your mind.

They knew all along. Schemed with Anabel to pry a path to the throne, letting me rot in humiliation for as long as it took. My betrothal is renewed. My crown is ensured. They did what they knew was best.

Even if it meant lying to me.

Cal clears his throat. His flamemakers glisten in the dim light, metal quivering as I steady my breath. "I can do it myself."

A tempting offer. There is nothing I want less than to stand before Elara Merandus again, to learn what happens to queens that have outlived their usefulness. Her whispers may be silent, but her tongue is still sharp.

"Don't be ridiculous." I swat his hand away. "You're not facing her alone."

His fists curl, on the verge of argument before drawing back. "You're right." He glances ahead at the silent stone creeping through the marble. "She loves poking where I'm weak."

"It isn't hard."

He gives me a pointed look. "Not now."

"Hmpf." I march ahead, drawing a razor from my armor so it hovers at my wrist. "I can do this myself."

Cal shakes his head. "I need to face her."

"Suit yourself." I toss my hair, and it lands on his face. "I'm here because my parents made me."

He winces. Parents. Perhaps I should have chosen my words more carefully. "I won't tell them. Not if you don't want me to."

Mother's voice returns with a vengeance. All I want is for you to succeed.

"She'll be weak from the silent stone." His fists curl. "She won't be able to pry as easily as she's accustomed to."

"All the better for us." I pat his shoulder as if I weren't having an existential crisis. The stairs are sloppy, uneven, unfit for a guard, much less royalty. My razor falters with each stretch of silence, clattering to the ground once we cross the threshold.

Elara Merandus glares at us through her cell, arms drawn taut by manacles on either side. Her feet are unbound, and she kicks in our direction. "Unchain me, cowards."

"Hmm." I circle her, stroking the chains as I would a cat. "What do you think, Cal? Shall we free her?"

His jaw twitches. "No." The words are rough, heavy with something I don't understand. "I don't think so."

She cackles. "Taking lessons from my son, are we?" The chains swing, doing little to contain her manic grin. "He learned it from me."

Cal stiffens, a coil pressed to breakage. "You ruined him."

Elara scoffs. "I made him strong."

I step forward, clucking my tongue. The sword gleams in Cal's sheath, silent and still, and I curse the stone for blinding me so. For dulling the thrum of steel, the quiver of chains, the chime of flamemakers gliding over one another. She is less, but so am I.

I will make her suffer for it.

"Nanabel sends her greetings." Cal steps forward, hand at his hip. "And her curses."

She spits. "Old hag."

"Takes one to know one." I smirk. "Any last words?"

"Have you killed the Barrow girl?" Elara scowls, chains twitching. "She made off with my son. I would like him back."

Cal draws his sword, a swish of metal and air, steeling as he stares her down once more. "Worry for your head, Elara."

"She's smarter than your mother, at least. What a pathetic creature." She swings her feet to no avail. "What Tibe saw in her, I've no idea. Weakness must prefer company."

The blade wavers, a dull threat buckling upon deliverance. Last time he drew it, a different head fell. This must not have been his idea.

Elara laughs. "What's wrong? Tibe caught your tongue?"

The blade halts inches from her neck. Cal draws back, barely breathing. This is not a vengeance he knows how to make.

But I do.

I know metal, how fire forges steel of iron and ore. How the edges serrate to better saw through bone, the weight of the hilt balanced to keep it steady. The blade is ceremonial, but no less deadly.

I snatch it from Cal and swing.

The blade catches on her throat and cuts deep, a wound that makes tears well from her eyes. I slice harder, swinging at different angles until the flesh finally severs. The head that rolls is not the one I see, too many echoing in the queen's eyes. Anabel's, Mare's, mine--they all lie on the chopping block, one wrong step from defeat.

I hand it back, watching as he sheathes it once more. He sighs. "Thank you."

My head bobs as I stare out the window, at my freedom stretching just out of reach. I cannot let my hesitation show. Not here. Not now. I can only hope for defeat, a vengeance that is not my own.

Give me a spark, Barrow. I would love to watch it burn.